The West Wing
by Nnoitra-Szayel
Summary: a twisted fairytale of Beauty and the Beast... drarry style. Draco stumbles into the room no one emerges from, but everyone stays in.


_A/N: this is a submission for the twisted fairytale contest in the #Drarry-for-Life group on deviantart. I picked Beauty and the Beast…_

The West Wing

Harry sat hunched in his chair, staring out the window. Several scars crossed his face, arms, neck, and chest. He was by no means what anyone would describe as beautiful. He was secluded in the large castle, but mostly kept to the west wing. It was where he kept his secret. The one that all those who stumbled upon his home discovered and then never remembered. It was one plenty knew, but never spoke of. Those that knew had once been people of the village, but now sat against the wall, nearly permanent décor in the dark room. There was the daughter of the owner of the bookshop, Hermione; there was the baker's son, Ron; there was the daughter of the seamstress, Ginny; even the village idiots, Crabbe and Goyle. They sat in silence, never speaking to one another, but always screaming at Harry.

Their words never held any meaning, and right now, Harry was infinitely more interested in the latest human to stumble upon his castle… the son of the village's eccentric inventor, Draco… the boy he had been after ever since he laid eyes on the portrait that he had found of the male with platinum blonde hair.

And despite the fact that the blonde looked delicious, Harry had discovered that he had personality as well, and wouldn't make for a bad companion if he passed the test…

xxxxxxx

Draco was at the bottom of the grand stairwell. He had been released from his confinement in the dungeon about an hour ago with the instructions to not enter the west wing. He could go anywhere else but there. Draco was under the impression that the reason behind this was that Harry stayed there and didn't want to see him. However, the flaw was that Draco was unsure as to why he would be allowed to walk around if Harry didn't want to see him. The other problem was that Draco just wasn't like that. He was curious, and despite the strong feeling of foreboding he got when around the disfigured man, Draco couldn't just sit around with the knowledge that Harry was probably sitting in the west wing of this very castle right now. He wanted to talk to him and find out what he was doing out here in an abandoned castle... He wanted to know where all of the scars had come from… There were just too many questions to be answered!

Making up his mind with the decision that whatever consequence he faced by going in there was worth the potential answers he could get, Draco headed up the stairs and went left. This area was darker than the hallway that was to the right. The wall paper had been ripped off the walls in some places and there were dark stains on the carpet, some of which carried over to the walls. Despite wanting to stop and examine everything, Draco kept walking. He passed several doors that were hanging off their hinges. Most of the interiors were destroyed and not worth looking into.

As he kept going, a peculiar smell permeated the air. It wasn't a good one, by any means and had Draco not been on a mission of sorts, he probably would have turned around and went back the way he came.

But the instinct that usually told him when to run was not present.

Draco passed a closed door, more interested in the open one at the end of the hall. At first glance, it looked like it was just in disrepair; broken windows, torn wallpaper, bunched carpet… but there were several glaring details. On the back wall was a painting, one that Draco knew well. It was one of himself from a few years ago; the one that had gone missing with the daughter of the seamstress. Even more alarming were what was located below the portrait… ivory carpets turned an ugly burgundy with dried blood; strewn with scraps of human innards that had no use to whoever had been the one to leave them like this. They were stripped to the bone of flesh, except for their faces. They had their faces and hair, and the dried out eyes stared wide and blank into the space in front of them, as if in mid scream.

Draco had to put one hand on the doorknob to steady himself. These were bodies. Dead bodies. Bodies that had been picked apart like a tailor could pick apart different strands of thread. It had been done messily; as if the person in question had been in frenzy. Shaking, he went to retreat from the room, only to walk backwards into something warm and solid. Arms snaked around him and hands grabbed his wrists, long nails digging into his wrists.

"You failed the test…" Harry whispered. "You're going to have to end up just like them." A pause. "You would have been great to keep around.' A tongue darted across Draco's neck and he shivered. "But now you're going to end up just like them…"

Draco's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat. "J-just like them….?"

"Oh yes… I'm sure you'll taste just as good as you look…"

xxxxxxxx

Draco fit perfectly with the décor of Harry's personal room. He, unlike the others, had not been turned into food, but remained a doll… forever sleeping beside Harry and being held at night.

The epitome of what a beast could never have.


End file.
